The Time that is Given Us
by Kefalion
Summary: Tom doesn't understand people. He can't empathize with them. Their actions often baffle him, but he has observed them long enough to mimic them. His acting skill is good enough to fool them. It's even good enough that he can fool himself. Slash. Tom/Harry.


This story was written for the **Twelfth Round** of the Fourth Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as **Beater 1** for **The Wimbourne Wasps**.

Name of round: **Out of the Ordinary**

 _You can't deny that there are certain characters or pairings in this fandom that are always (or the most part anyway) written under the same couple of genres. How many times have you come across a story about an angsty Harry or a funny story about the Marauders? I'm guessing a lot, so we're going to be mixing it up some of those common combinations this round._

 _Below is a list of eight prompts that combine characters with a genre that isn't typically associated with them. All you have to do is choose a prompt and write a story that [fulfils] the requirement – easy_

I'd like to take a moment to thank my team and the system we Wasps have with a semi-democracy/first served policy regarding prompts, because this round I really, really like my prompt.

 _5\. Write a story about your OTP that has an UNHAPPY ENDING_

My OTP being Tomarry (Harry Potter/Tom Riddle)

And these were the prompts I used to block our opponents, the Caerphilly Catapults:

1\. (word) control  
10\. (word) instinct  
13\. (quote) 'It's easy to make a decision if you already know what the outcome will be.' - Armin, _Attack On Titan_

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of the world J.K. Rowling has created; it's all hers, from Diagon Alley to Hogwarts to all the people living there.

Ellen, Sophie, Xanda you know you're awesome, but listen to me say it again; You're awesome! Thanks for checking over the story for me! Buzz, buzz!

 **PS.** Word-count provided by MS Word—

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 **The Time that is Given Us  
** _Words: 2 095_

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Tom moved his fingers up and down Harry's arm, relishing the feeling of soft, warm skin. Tom felt pleasantly lethargic. Unlike his lover, however, Tom was not ready to surrender himself into the embrace of sleep. He wanted to bask in the satisfaction of spent sexual energy for a bit longer.

He listened to Harry's even breathing, reflecting like many times before on how important Harry had become to him.

Tom had never understood people. He had never understood their crippling guilt, their contradictory morals or their inane attachments. He was never sorry for the perceived wrongs he committed; he was only sorry for being caught. Friendship was alien to him; partnership with mutual benefits he could grasp, but as soon as someone became a liability or a bore, he saw no loss in cutting them loose.

He couldn't imagine himself cutting Harry loose; though, Tom wasn't certain if that was a sign of emotional growth or regression of his imagination. As it stood, being with Harry felt like being home. With Harry around, Tom had a constant and steady sense of comfort. There was an assurance of stimuli. Harry, while not able to match Tom in intelligence, had a sharp tongue and unexplainable knowledge that challenged and intrigued Tom. Harry cared for Tom's well-being, making sure that he slept and ate appropriately. That was a positive arrangement as Tom was prone to forgetting about his bodily needs whenever new ideas invaded his mind and drove him to action. Finally, there was a spark between them. It was a spark that lit carnal desire within them. In short, Tom reasoned that their relationship held everything that was needed between lovers. He could not say if it was love, but from what he understood of love, what he and Harry had might very well be it.

Tom rose from the bed in their rented apartment and moved towards the open door of the balcony, where the warm air of the Mediterranean summer night swept in. Moonlight fell on the floor and drew Tom's attention to Harry's open trunk. At first, Tom thought that what he saw was simply the moonlight reflected on something, but as his shadow fell over the trunk, the light remained. At a closer look, he recognized the pearly shine of bottled memories.

He knew that it was wrong to pry. Memories were private. That, however, didn't stop his curiosity from rearing its head, nor did it stop him from being overwhelmed by the urge to sate it. The memories might hold an explanation for how Harry knew what he did. Harry had unsurpassed instincts that only clairvoyance and premonition were able to explain. Yet, Harry claimed to have failed Divination. It did not add up. Being caught and having to deal with being given the cold shoulder seemed a reasonable cost if breaking the unspoken rules of trust might solve the mystery. Partners were supposed to share everything anyhow. All that is mine is yours. What was Harry's was his.

Tom took up five small glass bottles, and, lacking a Pensive, he took the first memory into himself by swallowing it.

o.o.O.o.o

Tom's vision was blurred at the edges, and it was tinted in red. He'd watched the five memories Harry had hidden away, and everything had been explained. Tom now knew why Harry had seemed to possess instincts of what would happen and knowledge exempt to ordinary men. It was because Harry was from the future. He knew Tom better than anyone as the keeper of his soul. Harry had also been forced to learn to stay alive. Tricked by Dumbledore into learning Tom's backstory for one purpose, and Harry had fulfilled his purpose.

Harry Potter had killed Lord Voldemort.

Harry had been a catalyst for his disembodiment. Harry had destroyed several of his Horcruxes. Harry had vanquished him.

The fool believed that the future could be changed. It couldn't. Time travel only created loops. At the height of his power, Voldemort would kill Harry's parents and be cast from his body, and years later, they would meet again and Voldemort would die. He knew the future now, making it inevitable.

Somehow, his life would lead him to the point where he would die, defeated by a child and hated by a nation.

Tom crushed the small glass bottles in his hand, barely feeling the pain of the shards cutting him. Fear, rage, and impotence crippled him. He could not think straight. He was going to die. All he had sacrificed to keep away from the cold grasp of death had been for naught. There was nothing he could do about it.

No. There _was_ one thing. He could avenge his murder. Harry's future beyond the point where he'd travelled back in time was unknown. It was not set. Harry could still die here and now, and Tom would make sure that it happened. Harry had willingly given Tom his life. Now, Tom would capitalize on what was his and take Harry's death.

With rage now the predominant emotion, and with all notions of companionship and love gone, Tom turned to find Harry.

The bed was empty. Harry was gone.

Snarling and spitting and with the only goal of finding Harry and ending him, Tom got his clothes and his wand and began to work his magic.

o.o.O.o.o

Harry had hidden well. The spells Tom used to try to find his wayward lover were producing no results. As the next day dawned, some of his anger had drained away. His rage was no longer all consuming, but his goal had not changed, because the future had not changed. The memories were real. He'd analyzed them thoroughly to make sure. What he had seen was the truth. There was no escape to be had. The only thing he could possibly pursue was a settlement. An eye for an eye, said the ancient law. He would have death for death. Or-

Dark, yet hollow satisfaction filled him as he thought of a suitable way to use Harry's death. Before Harry had walked into Borgin and Burkes and turned Tom's life around, he'd been meaning to collect Ravenclaw's Diadem to make his next Horcrux. Harry must know of his plans too, had spoken to the Grey Lady himself. It was likely that Tom would be able to find both the Founder's artefact and Harry in Albania.

o.o.O.o.o

It was as he had predicted. By the large, hollow tree, Harry was waiting for him. What Tom had not expected was Harry wearing the Diadem. The sheer silver frame and large sapphires looked odd nestled in Harry's dark curls.

"Hello, Harry," Tom said, smiling pleasantly. "Why did you run away from me?"

"I knew you'd be angry," said Harry. He was not buying into Tom's act of normality. Harry was stiff and had his wand in hand, ready to defend himself.

"Did you feel guilty about your secrets? Could you not stand to bear the consequences?"

"I didn't want you to do something you would later regret. I wanted to give you a chance to calm down."

"I am calm now," said Tom. "Give me the Diadem."

"No."

"No?"

"I know what you're going to do with it. I won't let you."

Tom laughed. The sound slipped out of his mouth in a torrent of incredulity.

"What's funny?"

"I find it amusing that you think you can change the past."

"By being here I am changing it."

"No," said Tom. "You were always here at this moment. You being here was how it was. When you went back in time to save the Hippogriff and your godfather, you changed nothing. You were always there. You always saved them. This is the same. You were always here with me. I've seen your conversations with Dumbledore. He did not know what I did between my time of employment at Borgin and Burkes and my second application for the position as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Knowledge is what decides our perception of the past, and now, that you've travelled through time: the future. I will become the Voldemort you remember. I will kill your parents. Voldemort is my future and my end."

Harry shook his head. The motion threatened to knock off the Diadem, but he steadied it with his free hand. "It doesn't have to be like that. We can shape our own future. It's not written in stone. It can't be. I've seen you change. I've… What I feel can't be nothing. It has to matter. Love has to matter."

"Love!" Tom scoffed. "Love is a biological construct that's meant to keep family groups together. It's an illusion created by chemicals in the brain. It is not a real thing. Maybe I had come to care for you in a way that resembles love. I enjoyed your company and your body. I wanted you near, and I wished to keep you happy and healthy so that you would stay by my side. But the truth is that the only thing that is real is power, and you, Harry, have stolen all my power."

Harry backed away a few steps. Tom understood why. He usually wore a mask, a mask conforming to the expectations of society, where politeness was paramount. He'd shed all of that, and what would remain in his face was primal and dark. What remained was his dissolution with everything good, his fear and his need to regain what little control he could by shaping part of his own story.

"But you know the future now! How can you possibly do all the things I remember? How could you possibly do the same mistakes?"

If Harry was trying to dissuade Tom from violence, he was going about it the wrong way. Tom's anger only grew as the stupidity of his future actions was pointed out to him. He didn't answer. He simply stalked closer to Harry.

Tom knew that he would miss Harry in the days between this moment and the point in time when he would ultimately change to become the person in Harry's memories. It was a price he was willing to pay.

No one would remember how he killed Harry Potter. No one would know that Lord Voldemort had succeeded at killing The Boy Who Lived long before the moniker came into being. He had only his own satisfaction in the moment.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry's instincts did not save him this time. He did not move in time to dodge the green, magical death. It swept over him, tearing the bond between his soul and his body. Harry died at the hand of Voldemort.

Tom had died too, although he died a more metaphorical death. He was on his knees, roots digging into his knees and mud soaking through his cloths. He screamed in agony as his soul tore because of his act of murder. He screamed as the memories that had been Harry's escaped along with their original host, tearing away many other memories at the same time. He screamed until Tom Riddle was no more and only Lord Voldemort remained.

Voldemort panted and opened bleeding red eyes. He looked at the figure laying a few paces away, and the diadem that had fallen off its head. He didn't remember killing the person; a peasant, from the look of things. He did not have to remember to know that he was in Albania and that he had found Ravenclaw's lost diadem. He did not have to remember to know he had the vessel for his next Horcrux and that his body now contained two separated pieces of soul.

He got to his feet and began to cast the magic that would take him one step further on the road towards immortality.

Unknowingly, he had also taken one step further towards his own destruction. The time-loop was in progress. Voldemort would gather his followers and terrorise the witches and wizards of Britain into fearing his name. He would kill James and Lily Potter and be banished by their baby boy. Harry Potter would grow up to learn the importance of love. He would fight his parents' killer, and end the Dark Lord's reign. Harry would then put his hope in redemption and travel back in time, wishing to change history. He would fall in love, therefore becoming less cautious, enabling Tom Riddle to discover their entangled destiny. They would both end up in an Albanian forest again. And again. And again.

Love and fear of death, driving them forever on.

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 **The End**

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 **A/N 18th September 2016**

Alright – now wasn't that fun? :D

Should I run away to not risk being attacked (little miss xanda has made me afraid of what Tomarry fans might think), or am I fine to talk about my thoughts for this story?

When I participated in the Tomarry Bigbang this summer, I got to draw fanart for another Tomarry story with an unhappy ending, and much like the author of that story, partofforever on AO3, I think that a realistic ending for a Tom/Harry romance is an unhappy one. While I love it when it's a happily ever after, I prefer writing stories where things happen the way I actually think they would, not what I wish for. This _unhappy ending for my OTP_ -prompt was therefore perfect for me.

A bit done with the whole time travel thing, but it's my favourite trope and with the extra prompt I picked that just worked soooo well.

Sociopath!Tom is a thing in this. The Fictionist recommended a biography by a sociopath in a recent chapter of her Tomarry/Harrymort story _The Monster in the Mirror_. The biography in question is _Confessions of a Sociopath_ by M.E. Thomas. I made sure to read a large chunk of it (the first half) before starting on this story. While I've written Tom several times before, this gave me a new view into how his psyche might work. I hope it came across.

Also this is a 'screw you' directed to _the Cursed Child_. Dear _Cursed Child_ , you got time travel wrong! You can't change the past with a Time-Turner; _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ taught us this.

I want to say something about the title to round of this super long author's note. It's from Tolkien's _The Fellowship of the Ring:_

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with **the time that is given us."**

Thanks for reading the story! Please leave a review and let me know what you thought!


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